


Buzzard Child

by puddinpotato



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddinpotato/pseuds/puddinpotato
Summary: A gang of teenage War Boys come across a real shine prize in the Waste.  However, as usual, chaos ensues, a storm hits, and the Buzzards have acquired a shiny new car.  Morsov and Furiosa find themselves in a sticky, Buzzardy situation afterwards, separated from their brothers, and at the non-mercy of scavengers.  Then Morsov opens his big mouth.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Buzzard Child

**Author's Note:**

> (Important notes that won't show up in later works I promise)
> 
> It's been a while. Many years in fact, since my computer died and took with it the many started Mad Max prompts I had, along with EVERYTHING ELSE I had written and saved. Suffice it to say, I fell off for a while. But here I am, for Mad Max has been a part of my life since my youth, and I can't ever quit it. I know the fandom has...died. But my love will never dwindle, and I've returned, to finish the prompt I started all those years ago.
> 
> Brought on by the theory of Morsov being born of the Buzzards.
> 
> Yes, they are teenagers on patrol in this oneshot, Furiosa a little bit older, but far from an Imperator. Higher ranking within the War Boys, she is pack leader, and among that pack, a certain Mediocre War Boy resides, among others, but we aren't hear to learn about them. I guess I can explain that any named car from the movie within this oneshot is altered to an earlier state pre-movie...and Furiosa always seemed like a Camaro kinda gal so, I gave her a Camaro.
> 
> Can I also throw out there I haven't written anything substantial in about two years? On top of that, I can drive both manual and automatic, but I've never narrated a car chase so...forgive my...mediocrity for now.

**Buzzard Child**

  
  


It was just another raid. Another patrol turned raid when under the twilight hour, the party of teenage War Boys came across a trio of stranded vehicles, a sobbing woman in the back of one, her brethren dead around her, and a small boy clinging to her waist. "Nuh uh," Sprockets said with a cluck of his tongue, leaning over the roof of Furiosa's Blue from his position on the back. "That looks like a trap if I ever saw one."

"Leave it to the Wasteland born to attest," Elvis chuckled from his driver's seat, Morsov already heaving a heavy sigh as he draped over his Driver's self titled car.

"Who cares? It's still loot right?" He asked, looking towards their group leader, Furiosa shaking her head, clutching her wheel tightly as she mulled over the situation, too impatient to want to sit around and find out. “Looks to me like her pack decided to team up on her, shot em dead,” and he pointed his fingers to his forehead in a gunshot manner.

"What do we do, Furi?" Asked Sprockets, looking between his Driver and their group of War Boys, ten in total, equipped with their own vehicles of mayhem and decked with weapons. If it was a trap, he thought, surely the lot of them would be able to handle whatever was waiting for them over that opposing dune. Those were some shine looking cars there, ripe for the picking, and the woman looked healthy enough; perhaps she would please their Immortan, and her child could be groomed into a useful War Boy. Surely, they would all receive praise at returning such shiny treasures back to Citadel. But Sprockets still had a bad feeling, a tingle in his spine. This was too good a find. He had so many questions: What happened? Why were there dead men but one lone woman and child? Who killed them? The woman had a gun, had it pointed right at them from her position, sobbing mess that she was. Maybe Morsov was right, maybe she was defending herself against the dead men. The sand around her was disturbed, but there were so many tracks he couldn't tell where one pair ended and another began. He went through every possible scenario that could come of this, but Furiosa wasn't the most patient of War Boys.

"Fang it!"

The chase was on.

……..

A chase, it surely did prove to be. A chase to tell stories about, for their pack of ten War Boys was swiftly divided, a hoard of Buzzards come up over the dune to encroach on their claim of the treasure. First there were two Buzzard cars, small, easily disposable with enough well aimed thundersticks. But then there were two more Buzzards, then a truck, and Furiosa came to regret her decisions.

She should have sent a scout. Archer had his bike and a handgun, tricky, but it worked. She should have sent him around the dunes with Gunner, looking for danger, but she didn't. Furiosa ran full on into that waiting trap, not even caring if it were a trap at all, putting aside the safety of her pack, just to claim that stupid treasure. More vehicles and soldiers for their Army, and it looked like it was going to cost them a few of their own.

The Buzzards cut them off, separating them from one another, their trucks slamming into Runy's car, Jack's truck, veering Archer and Gunner off their bikes. The weeping woman was firing shot after shot at them from her spot upon the spiky rig, the child left behind in the treasure of cars. Furiosa and Sprockets on The Blue, Elvis and Morsov in their coupe, herded from their pack with the speeding saw wielders, steering further and further from whence their quarry lie. Furiosa punched the throttle as Sprockets let a lance fly, hitting the front end of their Plymouth, a snap of flame and smoke but still the vehicle kept coming, saw blade getting closer.

Elvis whipped around back, meeting Furi's pace as he called for Morsov to take a hit, his fellow War Boy crawling across the top of the car, spinning the Harpoon gun round and letting fly the spike to imbed into the roof of their pursuer. With a victorious holler, Morsov called for Elvis to kick it. The War Boy punched the throttle, Morsov holding tight to the gun as their car bolted forward, tugging with all its might at the hood of the Buzzard car, said Buzzard car swerving under the strength of the harpoon line. One brave Buzzard took it upon themselves to set out into the outside world of their car, if only to bust off that harpoon. A thunderstick sent forth from Morsov had them retreating back through the door. They were observant though, that War Boy only having access to three more lances. The neighboring War Boy on the blue Camaro had eight more shots himself however…

Sprockets sent one forth once more into his pursuing Buzzard, the engines of four vehicles all but drowning out the verbal shouts of the War Boys. Morsov was smiling gleefully, bouncing up and down on the roof of the Elvis, laughed maniacally as he sent another well placed Thunderstick into the front of the Buzzard, shooting their front end into the air as the harpoon continued to hold them in place. Meanwhile Sprockets pulled back a lance of his own, left arm extended, eye following to aim, his target veering this way and that. Still he focused, following their movement, calling for Furiosa to watch her blindside, as the Buzzard was catching up. Snap went the thunderstick against the front right tire of the Buzzard, sending it lopping to the side and he howled victoriously.

"You see that Morsov!?" He called to his fellow War Boy, said War Boy ducking quickly to avoid a pair of bolts shot by the enemy straight for his head.

"Mediocre!" Morsov shouted back, all smiles and glee as he goaded the Buzzards shoot again. "You limped 'em!"

"I got em off of us didn't I!?" Leave it to Morsov to mock his hits, especially as he sent one more lance out towards his connected Buzzard, another  _ snap _ and Elvis was calling out to him next.

"Now get this one off!"

Morsov did just that, cutting the attached harpoon to leave the Buzzard car sputtering slowly behind them as Sprockets sent one more lance into their side, tipping them and rendering them useless in the chase. It was Sprockets' turn to gloat, giving Morsov an ever ego riddled grin, the other War Boy making a suggestive gesture with his hands. 

Another Buzzard car. Faster, flying past his downed comrades with an intensity to leave both Elvis and Furiosa in the dust. They'd never seen such a shine and fast Buzzard. Their cars were never much to talk of, abominations welded together with whatever scrap they could salvage from the Wasteland, cobbled and torched into drivable killing machines, spiked and sporting saws. They could never keep up with the likes of Citadel's fastest warriors, The Elvis and The Blue, equipped with their supercharged V8 engines, packed with enough torque and horsepower to leave all enemies in the dust, perfect pursuers for the head Immortan's fleet, and for chasing down Wastelanders when not in war.

This Buzzard, though sporting the faction's signature spikes on its shell, it was fast, sleek,  _ shine.  _ Where had these Buzzards gotten hold of a V12!? So shine! To take that car, it'd be an excellent addition to the fleet, tear off the spikes, give it a covering of pitch and a lancer's perch…they'd settle for salvaging just the engine if it came down to it.

The crew of War Boys couldn't ogle the machine for long. A storm was coming, and it had even the leading Buzzard's attention.

"Goggle up, boys!" Called Elvis, pointing towards the approaching dust cloud. No one had to argue, this was going to hurt, and all War Boys were quick to throw on their goggles and bandanas, Sprockets immediately afterwards fixing a lance. Morsov too, and Elvis and Furiosa kicked up the speed, throwing the NOS and shifting gears, determined to overthrow the fast Buzzard.

"Got a nice coup, I'll give him that!" Shouted Morsov, chucking the thunderstick as soon as the Elvis car caught up to the Buzzard's rear. The Buzzard however, swerved to the left, just missing the snapping explosive, and then to the right of Sprockets'. "Fast little Buzzard!"

"Smart little Buzzard!" Sprockets called back, gripping the bars of his perch as his Driver made to nudge the bare end of the enemy coupe. No sooner had she revved up to get at him again, Sprockets arm readying another lance, there came an unexpected occurrence. Spike bars, thrust out from under the Buzzard, testing Furiosa and Elvis' reaction time, to which Furiosa did not disappoint. She swerved to the left, Sprockets hooking his free arm round a bar to keep balance while the other held the thunderstick at bay.

Elvis was not so lucky, hitting one spike trap and then the other with his front tire, his car bobbing across the sand as Morsov held tight to the gun. They'd never catch up to the Buzzard now, and before Elvis could react, Morsov was crawling over the roof, then the hood, grabbing hold of the engine for balance and sending his last lance flying.

_ Snap _ , jostled the Buzzard car when it hit the back end but still the thing flew across the sand. Then came the storm, and Morsov was flung against the windshield with the force of the wind, sand biting at the flesh of his back. Sprockets ducked down in his perch, belted with sand all the same, but this was a small storm compared to others. No roaming twisters or lightning strikes, but there were other dangers to be met within the mini maelstrom. Met them he did. 

No sooner had Sprockets popped back up from behind, ready to set loose thunder, a rogue frame of metal debris shot into Furiosa's hood, rolling over the roof and smack into the Lancer. The force of the blow ripped the War Boy from his perch, disrupting his shoulder and hurling him from the back of the car and straight into the sand, thunderstick flying behind him before it detonated on the ground in his wake.

Morsov called out, "Sprockets!" Scanning the quickly disappearing land beyond them as it fell to the clouds of sand and waste. It stung, and he glanced between Drivers, Elvis knowing he wasn't keeping up with that speeding Buzzard with one tire less, and he gave Morsov a knowing nod, the other War Boy mimicking him. With a quick turn of the wheel, Elvis pulled alongside the Blue, Morsov scrambling up the hood before diving into the back of Furiosa's chariot. The first thing he did was grab one of the remaining thundersticks. A sour attempt, as no sooner had he grabbed it, the Buzzard car stomped the brakes a moment, connecting their back end with the Blue's front and Morsov was toppled, spilling over the rail and losing the thunderstick. Said thunderstick struck the underside of the Elvis, and Morsov felt quite the fool, Elvis screaming a "Mediocre Morsov!" as he lost the chase, falling back with his injured vehicle.

"Hit the Buzzard, Morsov!" Furiosa screamed from her seat, Morsov quickly correcting himself in the car, unsheathing another lance just as the Buzzard swerved right again, pulling alongside Furiosa with a bolt gun aimed straight at her face. Furiosa was prepared though, hand gun at the ready and sending a line of bullets towards her enemy. She hit the passenger but the driver was still going and Morsov thrust a lance down into the roof of the vehicle, another small explosion that had the Buzzard pulling back, round the tail end of The Blue and back around then other side.

He felt like his flesh was being torn apart, and he knew if they made it out of this alive, he'd have the sand burns to show for it. Still he mustered his strength, loosing a thunderstick just for the Buzzard to bash into the side of their car, spikes ripping into the exposed husk of The Blue, jostling Morsov and infuriating Furiosa. She didn't want to damage her car any further, but this Buzzard was incessant, and she ripped the wheel to the side, bashing back against the spikes, metal shrieking against metal and Morsov had some opinions.

"Hey I'm still standing back here!" He shouted to her, gripping the bars of the back end as another flying bit of debris bounced over the roof and over his head as soon as he ducked. He eyed the Buzzard, the driver of the spiky coupe taking up his brother's bow, bolts aiming straight for Morsov.

Furiosa pushed harder, locking the throttle before pulling herself out of the window and into the wicked storm outside, her gun pointed straight for the Buzzard driver, when from the dust, there came another,  _ another Buzzard _ , and this driver had a grenade launcher in his hand.

Morsov roared to the wind, and Furiosa caught his distemper, whipping around only to find their enemy deploy a grenade, shooting under their car and launching them through the storm, tumbling over the sand, wheels, hood, wheels again in the air. The wind slowed, the sand chewed st their skin less, but all Furiosa and Morsov could see in the end was Blackness.

………

The fuck...just...happened…?

Another patrol, a raid, scavengers in the Waste, Buzzards, a chase gone all wrong. She lost Sprockets to the wind, Elvis too, and she'd no idea what happened to the rest of their crew. Lost in sand, and she slowly opened her eyes. Sand...fucking  _ everywhere _ sand, and her body, it fucking hurt. Her left shoulder especially, and when she made to move it, to ascertain the damage done to her, she felt herself being pushed back into the ground, a boot on her shoulders and a Buzzard's bow pointed at her head.

Gasping at the force she choked on the sand, coughing and sputtering and struggling under the boot on top of her, but the barking orders of the Buzzard had her still. She didn't understand them, but she did know if she moved again, she'd be dead. It took a moment, then another, for her vision to finally clear, to take in her surroundings with watery eyes. Her goggles were gone, whether taken by the storm or the scavenging Buzzard she did not know. She saw the tires beside her, their owner being that fast spikey coupe, and there was a dead body hanging from it. The one she shot.

Next through the dusty moonlit sand she saw her own car, much further away, a wreckage in the night now, her undercarriage mangled and her hood torn apart and the back end bars distorted and hanging off by a bolt. Her poor Blue; she'd worked tirelessly on perfecting that Camaro, long sleepless nights, and there it lay, in a heap in the sand, useless. Salvageable to War Boys still…

War Boys... Sprockets had fallen, maybe dead, maybe alive, and Elvis was gone too, no thanks to Morsov. ...Morsov...Furiosa turned her head, heaving under the heavy Buzzard, another intake of sand that had her coughing and heaving. "Morsov…" she managed a croak from her dry throat.

He was alive, for now that is. Nobody knew too much about the Buzzard people. Knew they lived underground, spoke a strange language, scavenged the Wasteland for wanderers and scrap, such was where they got their name. Stories told through the pipeline were, Buzzards ate the living, ate people, survived because of it. Many War Boys thought this to be a high strung tale, told to rebellious Pups to keep them in line. The fact that neither Furiosa nor Morsov were dead, had the girl thinking the stories just might hold some water. A trickle of fear ran up her spine, because being eaten was just one reason she could think of as to why they were kept breathing.

A Buzzard sent a flurry of words down to the bound Morsov, his boot hitting the War Boy after each utterance like a punctuation. Over and over she watched her fellow War Boy succumb to the blows into his chest, his stomach, his ribs, all while the beating Buzzard berated him. A final kick to his face had his lip bleeding, body curling up into the sand as he gasped for air. 

"Morsov!" Furiosa called, as if his name alone would stand him on his feet and force him fight back. Her call was answered with a stomp to her back and she nearly wretched into the sand. Morsov's ears heard though, and his eyes found her as her Buzzard started berating her next in their tongue.

Furiosa watched him, Morsov, his eyes cast between his Buzzard and hers as they bickered between each other, pointing at each victim, gesturing to each other, and the War Boys at last noticed a third Buzzard come round from his car, hands in the air as he yelled at the others. Morsov's eyes fell from them, landing on Furiosa, a flutter of varying emotions run across his face that the girl couldn't quite grasp under the moonlight.

More shouting, arguing, a boot driving harder into Furiosa's back until a hand went to grip the bandana round her neck, pulling her head up. There was a snickering from the Buzzard, an angry growl from Furiosa, and there was the stomp back into the sand again. She found Morsov's gaze once more, thought she saw a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips before he opened his mouth to speak. What came out though, Furiosa couldn't grasp. Was he...was he speaking Buzzard speak?

It was slow at first, hesitant, struggling with battered lungs to voice the tongue, but he managed a few words, leaving all three Buzzards for the most part, speechless. Furiosa's eyes widened as the wheels turned in her head. Was this Morsov's idea of getting them out of here? Was he going to bargain with them? Charm them? What was he going to accomplish? He was War Boy, they were Buzzard, there was no bargain or peace to be had.

Everyone knew Morsov was a Buzzard Child, that he was taken from them at a very young age, she didn't know how young, after a land dispute between Joe and Wastelanders. Morsov was the only child above ground, protected by an old Buzzard even he couldn't remember, they just knew the stories. Brought him up the lift after they took him, another Pup to add to the ranks, and they beat the Buzzard out of him. She knew that much, that he no longer spoke their tongue, let alone their accent, being a part of the Citadel nearly his whole life. He only kept his name...

He should have forgotten his past, as the War Boys indoctrinated him to do. It seems, he never forgot, because here he was, speaking to them, slowly, struggling, as if trying to bring forth the memory of that life. They kicked him again anyways, and he rolled to the side, sputtering blood and mumbling under his breath, still in the Buzzard tongue, perhaps an insult because he was kicked again, and he laughed. Morsov, Mediocre Morsov, always wiling people up, spitting out sarcasm and jests from his big stupid mouth, always getting himself into trouble. What good was he doing here?

The Buzzards muttered to each other, and Furiosa continued to watch her fellow War Boy, spitting out another slew of Buzzard words. At first his speech had been hesitant, slowly remembering the right combinations, the dialect, his past, and then, he spoke more meticulously, words flowed out of his mouth with a newfound finesse. Morsov remembered, and he talked to them, for a long time she thought, he talked to them. It was like, he was telling a story, his story, his taking of his life, molded into a proper killing machine for Joe's army.

The way his face changed, contorted, eyes softening and previous smile falling into a frown...it had the Buzzards questioning each other. One slung a phrase at Morsov and the War Boy responded quickly, nodding his head, bound hands gesturing in the air as he carried on. The bows were trained on him the entire time he spoke, and the longer he spoke, the more words the Buzzards flung at him, and he talked more each time.

His tongue was remembering, something literally beaten out of him by his pack mates, his elders, the old Ace himself, turning him into a right proper War Boy. None of that mattered though, not to Morsov, not now, and Furiosa saw a glimmer of hope in their situation. Then his eyes were on her, his bound hands gesturing towards her, like he was angry, and she heard her name, Joe’s name, Gastown, Joe again, his story becoming more personable by the look on his face. He looked, furious. It had Furiosa’s heart jumping into her throat. Morsov was going to sell her out. He was going to save his own skin. War Boys looked out for one another, but she was so far removed from the rest, heard the talks behind her back, the slander and the gossip, but her pack had seemed loyal. Until now that is, because that glint in his eye looked far less reliable.

  
  
The Buzzard on Furiosa’s back sent a question Morsov’s way, and he answered it with gusteau, a smirk returning to his face, and he turned to look towards the nearest Buzzard, muttering something to him, resulting in a chuckle from the man. The third Buzzard laughed too, but didn’t sound too enthused afterwards, approaching the kneeling Morsov, giving him a calculative look over, from head to toe, and he gestured towards the scars on his chest. Morsov’s face fell again, muttering in that Buzzard speak, looking towards Furiosa again and saying Joe’s name. 

  
  
The Buzzards all looked between each other, Morsov’s face to Furiosa, a look of...forlorn. He wasn’t going to side with the Buzzards was he? “Morsov--” of course they wouldn’t let her speak, and her face was pushed into the sand yet again. The Buzzard nearest Morsov forced him to his feet by his wrists, standing straight before him, eye to eye. Another mumbling of Buzzard speak between them, and to Furiosa’s surprise, the Buzzard lifted their helmet, revealing an old and worn man, pale under the moon like he were a painted up War Boy himself. Furiosa couldn’t make out much more of him from behind, face in the dirt and all, but Morsov nodded, another sobbing muttering on his part as the Buzzard placed a hand on his shoulder. 

  
  
The two other Buzzards exchanged looks, the third one approaching his mate and their captive, a glance between the two of them, and the first Buzzard cut his bonds. They mentioned his name, “Morsov” and he nodded, smiling, and they were smiling back. 

Morsov sent a furious headbutt into the first Buzzard, sending him straight to the ground. He pulled the other in front of him as Furiosa’s captor sent a pair of bolt’s his way in a split second reaction. The bolts impaled the Buzzard body in front of Morsov, imbedding themselves into his throat. This was her chance.   


  
Furiosa bucked her body upwards while her Buzzard was distracted, sending an elbow into his groin, and then whipped around to send a punch to his kidneys. Morsov threw away his Buzzard, running forth and shoving his body against the other man, pushing him against his own car, the spikes driving through his body as Morsov forced him backwards. With a huff and an egotistic grunt towards the dying Buzzard, Morsov pulled Furiosa up by her arm, the woman favoring her left shoulder. Luckily nothing was broken on either of them from that fling of The Blue. “Not so mediocre Morsov now, huh?” he asked, chuckling and stalking towards the writhing Buzzard on the ground.

  
  
Furious could finally make out the man’s face, pale, near white skin, and a bushy beard at his chin, shaven head, startling brown eyes that looked like they’d held tears, watery as they were. He looked up at Morsov, almost pleadingly at first, a glance between each War Boy, and he shouted up to him a slew of Buzzard speak that Morsov casually ignored as he plucked a knife from his waist. He muttered some mocking speak back to the old man, flapping his hand in a talking motion, smirking, and the man on the ground shouted louder before Morsov’s knife found his throat.

  
  
The man’s hands caught the War Boy’s wrists, eyes widening as he gargled one last batch of words towards his former kin, and Morsov twisted the knife in response. Furiosa set a dark glare on the Buzzard in the sand, and then to the smirking Morsov who rose up and wiped away the false tears from his eyes, and he laughed.

Were they safe now? No more Buzzards about, but no sign of their pack either. Furiousa crossed her arms and huffed, glare hardening on Morsov who looked confused at her expression. “What?” He asked, innocently. 

Furiosa opened her mouth to talk, but quickly closed it, shaking her head and moving around the dead body to check on the others, the one with the bolts in his neck struggling on the ground. His hands tried desperately to grab the bloodied bolts, to no avail. With a sick grin, Morsov nudged the toe of his boot against the wound, blood squirting out over his foot and the man's chest. "Skags thought they could up Joe's Boys," he said with a snicker, watching as the Buzzard helplessly clung to his ankle, blood gushing out rapidly from his throat the harder Morsov pushed. Finally there was no more fight to give, and the life drained from the Buzzard, grip falling from Morsov's leg, the War Boy turning to Furiosa with a blood stained smile.

Her scowl wasnt very reassuring. "Let's get out of here," she said, walking towards the vehicles, assessing each one under the moon's light, and giving a solemn look to her crumpled mess of a Camaro. 

"We can come back for her, Furi," she heard her fellow War Boy say, and she looked to the ground, to the Buzzard car before them. "But look at this shine new Engine we got!" She followed his voice, turning to watch him ogle over the shiny new V12. "Where you think they got it? Bet it was Gastown. They always got prize engines at the races--gyah!" As if Morsov's day wasn't bad enough, ribs and lungs and face aching and lip bleeding, now there was a bolt sticking out of his shoulder!

Both turned to the impaled Buzzard, stuck to his vehicle, arm wobbling in extension with his weapon, though it quickly fell as soon as they saw. He was dying but he was going to take a War Boy down with him. Unfortunately, in his wounded state, he couldn't get a good aim, going for the Boy's head with two bolts but only sticking one in his shoulder. Morsov was a prattling grumbling growling angry War Boy.

With a limp in his step, he stalked towards his assailant, the Buzzard already fallen limp in lifelessness. Furiosa watched, still scowling, adrenaline kicking up again as soon as her pack mate met that bolt, and even she was ready to pike the Buzzard. Morsov got to him first, and whether the Buzzard be alive or dead, Morsov still pulled the bolt from his shoulder with nary a care. Pain for a War Boy was welcome, reminded them they were alive, were useful, purposeful in this Pox-Eclipse they were born into, and Morsov relished his injuries.

With a quick arm, he jammed the bloody bolt into the man's neck, over and over, blood spurting out to splatter his hand, his arm, his face… Over and over again he sent that sharp bolt into the body of the Buzzard, listening to the squelch of gore as he rendered his neck a mangled mess. 

"Morsov!" He halted in his puncturing of the Buzzard, turning to an annoyed Furiosa, scowling at him yet again. "He's dead. Enough." Morsov was seething, but still managed a smile to his pack leader.

"Just making sure," he said, chuckling and impaling the bolt one final time into the Buzzard's face.

Furiosa heaved a sigh. Morsov always had something to prove, for as long as she'd known him. He didn't know how to quit. A good attribute for a War Boy, but it flustered Furiosa when his ego grew bigger than the Citadel itself. "Let's just grab what we can and go."

"No fun for Furi huh?" He teased, and quickly threw his hands up in defense when she shot a death glare of her shoulders. "Easy, sister, I was just playing."

"You're always 'just playing'," she said, pulling the boots off of one dead Buzzard. Citadel could always use more boots. "It's gonna get you killed one day."

"Ill only accept a blaze of glory. It's why we're living, right?" He asked, all proud smiles again as he meandered between Buzzards, looting their corpses alongside his packmate.

She didn't answer, didn't even want to. She knew far more than the average War Boy, of the world beyond Citadel, Gastown, Bullet Farm, a place Joe's men tried to beat the memory out of her. Like they did with Morsov. It worked out better with him, he was far younger than Furiosa when they brought him up that lift. Perfect age to meld into their armies, stuff his head full of V8 word stuff, Immortan Joe's love, the belief in a good death Witnessed by their brothers. 

"We'll head towards Citadel," Furiosa said at long last as she and Morsov removed the body from the Buzzard coupe and climbed on in. "See if we can find the others on the way."

"Bet they gave that Buzzard truck a good beatin'," quipped Morsov, a hiss in his voice as he held onto his wounded shoulder.

"We'll see…" Furiosa revved up the engine, the rumbling vibrations rocking the vehicle beneath them, and Morsov was ever an excitable little War Pup then.

"Alright, fang it Furi!"

Furi did not "fang it". 

………….

It was a shine car, that spikey coupe they lifted off the Buzzards. Even Furiosa had to test its treads after a while, and after Morsov's constant urging. Of course, first she stopped by her Camaro to relinquish it of weapons and its wheel, a symbol of importance among the War Boys, and even Furiosa herself cherished her machines. She swore she'd come back for the Blue, provided they found their lost packmates. In the meantime though, she sped their new ride along the Wasteland, spitting up dirt in their wake.

Morsov was excitable, hanging out the window and howling with glee, injuries be damned for the thrill of the drive was an ever worshipped ideal among their kind. He goaded her to go faster, bouncing in his seat like an excited puppy, blood still decorating his painted body. Furiosa didn't want to encourage him, admired the workings of this vehicle herself--the Buzzards certainly weren't known to harbor nitro--but they were still alone out here, and she wasn't keen on attracting unwanted attention.

It took some time, but Morsov finally calmed down, succumbing to an adrenaline crash as his recent wounds reminded him that he was indeed hurting. It bothered him little, but he was tired, Furiosa was tired, and they were still picking sand out of their ears while stifling yawns.

The night moved on and Furiosa's mind was wandering, green eyes set ahead of them, ever vigilant of another slew of enemies, but she couldn't stop asking questions in her head. Questions regarding Morsov, his actions, the way he convinced the Buzzards to trust his words. Words the girl couldn't understand… 

"What did you tell them?" She quickly regretted the question, wanted an answer, but prying at a War Boy's past didn't always end on a positive note. In fact, the last time anyone had brought up Morsov's Buzzardy connections, they were rewarded with his fists in their face, a barrage of attacks that left Morsov covered in blood, like he was now.

Furiosa was his packmate however, and he wasn't so prone to fight her as others outside that pack. She still didn't expect him to answer. "Doesn't matter, Furi," he mumbled, tired eyes set on the landscape, his hand pushing his bandana against his wounded shoulder, still bleeding, and he hadn't bothered wiping the blood off of his face either. Said he wanted to show their brothers once they found them. "All that matters is I got us this shiny new ride," and his smile was back, that mischievousness playing at his lips.

Furiosa sighed, fiddling with the switches on the dash, grateful one Buzzard car had headlights. Those weren't too common among the scavengers. "Come on Furi, smile! This baby's got herself a V12. Am I good, or am I shine?"

His exuberance was suffocating, but Furiosa felt the need to humor him, so she did smile. A small smirk of sorts that pleased her brother and he settled back in his seat. "You were pretty shine," she admitted and he laughed, happy his ego was stroked. "Got them to believe you were one of them. I mean, I almost believed you." Her smile did widen, a little bit, and Morsov scoffed.

"Didn't know I could be such a good liar huh?"

"I actually thought for a minute there you were going to sell me out," she said, casting a glance his way, finding his eyes intently watching her, smirk still in place and she knew he was happy to receive the compliments on his excursions. "Go back with the Buzzards….but you didn't."

Another scoff from the wounded Morsov as he slouched down in his seat, boot up on the dash like an undisciplined Pup. "Why would I ever wanna go back to  _ that?  _ Pff."

"That old guy, he...did he remember you?"

"Got him to," he said, proudly.

"Did you remember him?"

"What do you want Furi?" The smile faultered, and Furiosa knew she was pushing him too far now, but...she just had to know!

"You two were talking! And you said my name, and Joe's. You convinced him to let you go, you had tears in your eyes--"

"I had to get us out of that some how!" He said, visibly getting angry, and Furiosa focused her attention ahead of her again, fingers tightening on the wheel and she could practically feel the heat coming off of Morsov. "I did the only thing I could think of. You honestly think I, anyone, would ever wanna go back to being a  _ Buzzard _ ? That's rust if anything was. Maybe you don't realize how good we have it but I do. We have food, endless water, Organics, all the guzzaline to fill our cars and bullets to fill our guns, and no one feels the need to eat each other. I'll take advantage of that till my last breath. "

Furiosa's brow furrowed, frowning into the night and chewing on her tongue before glancing his way again. So it was true? Buzzards did eat the living. She almost asked for clarification but found herself asking something else, something she probably shouldn't have. "Weren't they your family?"

A snort from Morsov, then a full on cackle that resulted in a slew of coughs from his bruised lungs. Those Buzzards could kick hard. Upon calming himself, steadying his shaky breaths, he found her eyes again. "We are War Boys, Furiosa. Fukushima Kamikrazee War Boys.  _ We  _ are family before anyone else. And  _ I _ , am ascended above all those Wasteland skags. Immortan Joe raised  _ me _ up, gave me a purpose, and I'll be damned if some cacky Buzzards are gonna shoot me down."

Ever prideful was Morsov, and Furiosa actually found herself smirking at that, and Morsov caught it. "Why do you think I kept my name?" He asked her, grinning. "Same reason you kept yours."

Her gaze quickly shot to meet his, confused at first. "What reason is that?"

His stupid smirk, how she hated it some days. "We dont forget what we was raised up from." For any War Boy to speak with insight, Morsov was the last Boy she would think of to do so. Honestly, he was a pride driven War Boy who aimed to come first, aimed for other's attention, aimed to be noticed. Morsov didn't  _ think _ , Morsov only  _ did.  _

She found herself sighing again, looking ahead, and before anymore words could be said they saw the lights. "That them?" asked Morsov, sitting up in his seat, looking towards the string of headlights in the distance. 

Furiosa stopped the car, grabbing up her binoculars and stretching herself out of the side to stand at the frame. The moon was bright, as were the stars, and the Wasteland was lit up in blue and gray, and she watched the line of cars stop in their tracks, flashing their lights. "It's them!" She exclaimed, climbing back into the car to flash their headlights back, signaling them in Morse as it was her. 

"You see Elvis? Sprockets? Skinny?"

"Can't tell...think that's Sprockets though…" 

"Big galute sticks out like a sore thumb, ey? Knew he'd make it. What about that kid we found?"

"Can't tell," Another light signal from their party and Furiosa once again stood up from the car. Where all other War Boys howled and roared for one another, Furiosa used a different approach, one from her past, utelating and yipping her voice across the distance between her and the others, alerting them it was indeed her in the Buzzard car. There came the howls, and she ducked back inside, heaving a sigh of relief, glad they were found. Then she noticed Morsov's knowing smirk…

"What?" She asked.

"Nothing," replied Morsov, still smirking, leaning back in his seat once again with his hand in his shoulder. "Just take us home."

_ Home _ she thought with a quirk of her lip, revving up the vehicle.

**Author's Note:**

> Just kill me now please. Also, lemme know if I should write that "Doof Rally" prompt I had also started all those years ago before my computer ate it and died and you know nothing about said prompt.


End file.
